


you were California beautiful, i was playin' everything but cool

by notthebigspoon



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buster is the oldest. He's the 'stoic professional' according to one of the beat writers, and people are all the time forgetting he's actually pretty young.</p><p>Brandon is the second oldest. He's consumed with frequent self doubt, even if he smiles and walks it off and pretends that he can't hear the hate over the applause.</p><p>Madison is the youngest. He knows he has anger issues and knows that his teammates look at him as one of the babies to be looked after. It's mostly a formality. </p><p>Not for the first time, he curses the irresistible temptation that Buster and Brandon combine to represent to him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Title taken from 19 You + Me by Dan and Shay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you were California beautiful, i was playin' everything but cool

Buster is the oldest. He's the 'stoic professional' according to one of the beat writers, and people are all the time forgetting he's actually pretty young. Personally, Madison thinks that that's a bunch of bullshit. What Buster is, is a man with a one track mind. He's not so very professional that he deliberately pushes away all else. He forgets it all, because baseball consumes him so utterly that he wouldn't recognize fun if it danced naked in front of him.

Brandon is the second oldest. He's consumed with frequent self doubt, even if he smiles and walks it off and pretends that he can't hear the hate over the applause. Almost every night he plays, he listens to KNBR afterward, forehead wrinkled in hurt and frustration as he takes in and visibly agrees with the latest Belt Bash. There's nothing to do in those situations but turn the radio off and lead him away to bed.

Madison is the youngest. He knows he has anger issues and knows that his teammates look at him as one of the babies to be looked after. It's mostly a formality. The older guys check in on him once in a while and then he's left to his own devices. He likes it that way, he doesn't have to worry about being watched. His relationship has been enough of an adjustment without having to wonder if any of them have seen too much. It suddenly occurs to him that they have no contingency plan if they're found out.

Not for the first time, he curses the irresistible temptation that Buster and Brandon combine to represent to him. Before he left home, hell, before he was first called up, he would have punched any guy that he felt was giving him the queer eye. (He's not proud of that.) Now he's in a D&S polyamorous relationship with two men that sometimes are ill advised to be left to themselves and yet are holding a dominant position over him. It makes no sense, should confuse him more than anything and yet sometimes it's the only thing in his life that always is crystal clear.

He never thought anything of how close Buster was to him from the beginning, from the day that they met. They've always been close and they've never really had a concept of personal space. It never seemed necessary. He wasn't jealous when Brandon came along, the guy was a natural extension of the two of them once he was around full time. They were comfortable. And really, he wasn't uncomfortable when he walked in on the two of them making out like their lives depended on it. The reason he turned around and walked out was because he was surprised, not because he was repelled or disgusted, no matter if they believe that or not.

There had been two days of radio silence after that. Madison kept to his own hotel room for the rest of their stay in New York, sorting out for himself why he had been surprised instead of disgusted and if it was an isolated even for him. (He might just have a high school education, but he's not stupid and he is self aware, thank you very much.) He'd ultimately decided that while he wasn't sure if he liked all men, he was definitely in love with his two best friends. It just sucked that he didn't figure it out until they'd already found each other and left him behind.

He'd behaved himself reasonably well, maintained a polite distance and given them time alone. Best friends or not, three is always a crowd and he hadn't wanted to drive them away and lose them entirely. They'd gotten steadily angrier and he'd cut himself off from them entirely. It was only four days before they were breaking into his hotel room and demanding to know what the hell his problem was.

There hadn't been an answer, not an adequate one anyway, and he hadn't known what to do when they first punched him for being an asshole and then took turns kissing the breath out of him until he was dizzy and couldn't see straight. He'd been... maybe not exactly happy but he'd obeyed without thinking twice about it when they ordered him onto the bed and put him through sexual acrobatics that he'd never seen even in porn.

Sex with two men had been new and weird and fucking fantastic. Sex with two men who generally controlled his life had been a little harder to come to terms with but he likes to think that he's come a long way in the last two years.

He loves it, really, and it's not always a sexual thing. It's just easier, letting someone else run the show and take care of him. It's easier, knowing that if he screws up, his boyfriends will be there to punish him, to remind him how things are supposed to be and how he should act. He's not stupid and he's not out of control, but it's just easier to let them take the reins. He loves them for loving him enough to want the job.

Madison does his fare share of the caretaking, though, doing what he can for his dominants when he can. They're both so very capable of taking care of themselves. He just wants them to need him as much as he needs them. He worries about that every once in a while, that he doesn't mean enough or doesn't give them enough reasons to keep him. Mostly though, mostly he just wants to save them from their own obstinacy.

They're both inclined to believe the worst of what people say about them and not just when it comes to baseball. Their families hate them because they're gay and they sometimes really do believe they're going to hell. It's the real reason that Madison is afraid of finding out about the three of them. He's worried about what people will say to them, do to them. He knows Buster and Brandon will believe that the people are right. That there's something wrong with the fact that the three of them love each other, that they take care of him.

Overthinking on it for the past few weeks have put him in a sadly amusing state of paranoia. He finds his head whipping back and forth, chasing down the feeling of being watched. HE doesn't know who it is, but he knows they're there. In spite of their lack of personal space, Madison finds himself reluctant to get any closer than absolutely necessary to either Brandon or Buster. He knows they're angry and veering towards a punishment for his erratic behavior but he can't calm down, can't shake lose that awful, sick feeling of something about to go wrong.

As far as the proverbial shit hitting the fan goes, it's fairly anti-climactic. There's no big news story, no one shouting names and accusations. No, it's all quiet and soft spoken, covered with a rosy tone of disappointment that infuriates Madison because it's complete and utter bullshit. Affeldt, whom Madison once considered a friend, tells him in front of the entire team that what they're doing is wrong, repulsive and against God. One man and one woman. Two men is wrong and three is an even worse abomination. Madison, Buster and Belt are going to hell and they make him so sad and disappointed.

Madison doesn't like his tone, his bullshit argument, his sanctimonious attitude. He register his objection via a fist connecting to Affeldt's face.

That is when the clubhouse erupts into chaos, everyone shouting and surging forward to drag them apart. Madison can't stop snapping and snarling and swearing. Affeldt insulted the men he loves and that love him, tried to turn what is beautiful into this ugly and awful mess. Brandon and Buster love him. There's nothing, not a damn thing, wrong with that. None of their teammates register an opinion. They're just trying to keep Affeldt from being murdered. It's not an easy job.

He doesn't know how long it takes but eventually the clubhouse splits in two. There's a handful of guys surrounding him, a handful around Affeldt with a few scattered in detached groups. Bochy is roaring at the top of his lungs for them to tell him what the hell is going on. Cain and Romo step up, explaining quickly, under their breaths, what Affeldt had said and Madison's reaction to it. Bochy looks angrier by the second. Madison wonders if he'd gotten himself fired. He doesn't know if he cares.

Buster is in front of him and Brandon is behind them, both of them crowding in close until their bodies are flush against his. It's not until Buster's hand gently brushes at Madison's cheeks that he realizes he's crying. Silent tears of rage and shame and humiliation. It isn't fair, no one should ever have to feel like this. He shouldn't be worried about his own safe and that of Brandon and Buster's because of who he loves.

They're dismissed, ordered to go back to their hotel room and to stay there until given leave to do otherwise. Madison doesn't see or hear anything anyone does or says. He's lost in a daze, blindly following whoever has hold of his hand. The tunnels of Fenway are a maze that he's surprised they escape from. He feels as if one moment he's in the clubhouse and the next, they're just suddenly at the hotel.

Buster sits with his back against the headboard of the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling as if it will give him the answers. Brandon settles on the edge of the bed, hands planted on the mattress, staring at his own shoes. Madison stays standing, pacing anxiously, waiting for them to say something, anything, to just give him a sign already. At the look Brandon shoots Madison, lost and disappointed, Madison feels his heart plummeting. He hits his knees, choking on his own sobs before burying his face in Brandon's lap. He can't stop apologizing. He's ruined everything for all of them.

Hands are large as his own slide through his hair, standing it up on end and cupping the back of his neck. He's ordered to look up and he almost refuses, can't look at them knowing what he has cost the three of them. The order is repeated, firmer and Madison looks up in spite of himself. He's rarely disobeyed and order. He can't do it now. He can't disappoint them again. He meets Brandon's eyes, chokes the sobs back until they're gone, whimpering when Buster rests his chin on Brandon's shoulder and touches Madison's cheeks.

“You know this doesn't change anything, right?” Brandon asks, soft and soothing. “We'll be okay, we're not leaving you. We love you too much to ever do that.”

Buster offers the smallest of smiles. “Plus, watching you defend our honor was kinda hot. Proud of you, babe.”

“I kind of want to pass out and sleep for a week.” Madison mumbles, allowing himself to be pulled up to stand in front of Brandon. “Just so tired all of a sudden.”

No questions are asked, no jokes are made. They each kiss him in turn and he's led to the bathroom, stripped down and put into the tub. Between the hot water, the exhaustion from the fight and their hands gently roaming over his body to wash him, he finds himself drifting away where he sits. He drowsily consent to being dried off, dressed and tucked into bed as if he's a child. He'd complain if it weren't for the fact that he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

**********

Buster had known that they would eventually have to deal with the fallout of being in a polyamorous relationship but he hadn't thought that the time would come so soon or that their Rubicon would take such an ugly shape. Affeldt being the one to bring it up, where he did it and how he did it, none of that was ever in the many disaster scenarios that he had gone over in his mind in an effort to prepare and protect both of his boyfriends. He hadn't counted on their being banished from the clubhouse. He never would have expected that, not from Bochy.

Madison losing his shit and attacking Affeldt had been more than somewhat expected. Buster couldn't enjoy it, though not when he was trying to see if there was any meaning in where everyone was standing after the air had cleared. It had been almost more than he could fathom, to look at Madison when it was over and see him crying so hard, so openly, all his shame and humiliation there for everyone to see. They'd made Madison cry during sex, when they were scening, but Buster had never seen him cry real tears of hurt, of agony.

He cries again in the hotel room and a little when they're giving him a bath. By the time he's in gym shorts and one of Brandon's t-shirts, blankets tucked around him, the tears are gone, one last trickle as his body relaxes and his breathing evens out. They wait, just to make sure he's well and truly asleep before slipping off to shower together. It's purely utilitarian this time, get clean and get out so they don't have to be away from Madison any longer than necessary.

Sleep pants and a tank top for him. Shorts and a t-shirt for Brandon. Sliding into the bed on either side of Madison's sleeping body, carefully settling him between them like they always do. Brandon's hand runs through Madison's hair before reaching over and taking Buster's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

“Some doms we are.”

“We could have predicted this.” Buster shrugs. “We should just be glad we've got him calmed down and asleep. It could have been a lot worse than it was. It doesn't matter what else happens, we still have each other.”

“Think we'll get fired?”

Buster shrugs, starts to answer when there's a sharp bang on the door that makes both of them jump. Narrowing his eyes, Buster climbs out of bed and murmurs that no matter what, Brandon stays right there on the bed in case Madison wakes up. He receives a nod and a quick kiss before padding for the door. His hand lands on the handle as the knocking begins anew. His already worn thin patience is at it's limit and he yanks the door open without checking the peephole.

Somehow, the sight of Bochy and Sabean makes the whole thing even worse. He angles his body, opens the door only an inch or two, blocking their few inside. He glares at them, even though he knows how stupid it is to piss them off any further. He doesn't care. They hurt his and Brandon's sub by their inaction, he doesn't owe them a damned thing. They give him a look. He doesn't budge.

“What?”

“You know what.” Bochy answers mildly. “We need to talk about what's going on. I'm guessing you know where Belt and Bumgarner are?”

“What's been going on is no one's business but our own.” Buster says, sharper and angrier than he meant to be. “It wasn't Affeldt's business to go around talking about and it sure as hell isn't yours.”

“Posey, son, calm down. We're not here to chew on you, we're not out to get you. At some point, this will be discussed and the sooner it is, the better for everyone involved. So let's just get it over with, alright? Alright then.”

For a long moment, Buster just watches, considers slamming the door shut in their faces and dealing with the consequences later. Logic and reason take over before he can do it. They're right, the sooner they deal with this, the better. More importantly, he owes it to his boyfriends to not make this any worse than it already is. Most importantly, he and Brandon have to take care of their sub. They'd be no kind of doms if they weren't seeing after Madison's welfare first. He's just not equipped to handle this. He recalls Madison's tear stained face and steps back.

Bochy and Sabean are visibly shocked when they step inside, their line of sight immediately zoning in on the bed. Madison is asleep on his stomach, head pillowed on Brandon's hip and that ridiculous Lou Seal tucked under his arm. He looks young, innocent, beautiful. Buster feels a little jealous that someone other than himself and Brandon gets to see Madison like that. Brandon is sitting still, running his hand up and down Madison's arm. He fixes Bochy and Sabean with a sullen stare.

“What?”

“Parlay.” Buster answers humorlessly.

He doesn't offer them a seat, just pulls out the armchair by the window and takes it for himself, flatly warning them to not wake Madison up before falling silent. If they want to have this talk, then they can do the talking. It's not all anger and petulance. Listening to them first afford Buster the chance to figure out what their angle is and formulate a counterattack while they're laying it out. In the long run, if they're against the relationship, they still lose. Buster will scorch the earth if they hurt his boyfriends.

It isn't as bad as he thought and some of the points they raise are to be expected. A few of those points are even valid, like violence in the clubhouse being unacceptable. Fraternization is frowned upon, but Buster will allow that probably a lot of companies have policies against fraternizing. Not that he cares about that part, but he's willing to be fair. All in all, he manages to behave himself fairly well until Sabean tries to delicately 'suggest' that they consider the idea that they might possibly be making their teammates uncomfortable. Buster snorts and shakes his head.

“Bullshit.” He mutters. “That's their problem. You can't argue that we've ever been anything but professional. We don't act any differently than anyone else on the team and I can name three people straight off that are touchier and more out at ends than we are. Admit it. Unless Affeldt had started his bullshit today, no one on the team would know.”

“How did Affeldt know?”

“You tell me.” Buster shrugs, rubbing his forehead and glancing at Madison. “We keep it away from the park. How he picked up on it is beyond me. Regardless of that, it's no one's business but ours. You wanna suspend, fine, do whatever, then you go right ahead. But I warn you. You. Will. Lose. Your funeral.”

“We're not suspending anyone. There will, however, be a class on conflict resolution that you all will be required to attend. We want to avoid situations like this in the future.” Sabean says calmly, almost imperially. Buster rolls his eyes.

“Like hell we are.” He says, snickering. “This 'situation' occurred because my boyfriends and I were verbally attacked by a homophobic bigot. Madison reacted inappropriately, I shouldn't have allowed him to get violent. But I have yet to hear you say anything where we weren't at fault for what occurred. Now get out.”

“Posey-”

“I said get out.” Buster snaps, pointing at the door. “You do whatever you gotta do, but we're not playing your bullshit games.”

“Posey, you-”

“OUT!”

**********

Brandon likes taking care of Madison. He even likes taking care of Buster, although Buster doesn't really need it. Of all of them, he's the most self reliant and even if he needed help, he hasn't ever been the type to admit it. He'll hide it all, declaring when caught that their sub is more important than he is. Brandon never tells Madison when he's had one of those episodes. He'd be furious.

He's going to be furious when he finds out about Bochy and Sabean's visit. He slept through it and Brandon and Buster agreed before they went to sleep not to tell him about it if they didn't have to. It's not like it was a productive conversation anyway. Buster was right, they're always professional at the park and that's what matters.

He knows when they report that afternoon, things are going to be different. People talk about tolerance but from his experience, most people only say it because it's the right thing to say. He'd like to think more of Cain, but he doesn't have his hopes up. If Zito were still around, then things really would be different, because Zito never stood for anyone being fucked with. They're big boys, though, they can't take care of themselves.

Buster has been around for years. He's an established part of the team with solid numbers and Brandon and Madison don't do too shabbily themselves. No one can argue that their relationship has any impact on their performance. Well, except that time that Buster went down but they weren't even together than and everyone was more than a little off when that happened. Right, no performance issues.

The second the door of the clubhouse opens, everyone goes silent. They make their way to their lockers and Brandon has only just begun to change when a hand clamps down on his shoulder. His hackles rise and he turns slowly, staring at Pence and Cain and wondering if maybe he didn't give the guys enough credit. Clearly he didn't, because Pence hugs him first and then Cain does.

“Doesn't matter what anyone else says, we've got your back. I mean that.” Pence says, Cain nodding in agreement. “We love you guys, you're our teammates, out friends.”

“Just as long as you don't tell Buster you love him, we're good.” Madison says dryly. “You know how much he hates that.”

“Is that jealousy speaking, Bum?”

Madison smirks. “Hell yes it is. I don't share. Well, except with Brandon.”

“Sometimes you're not even good at that much.” Brandon mumbles, giving Madison a look. “Somehow he gets the feeling that Madison is going to need punishment before the week is out. Not that he minds. A sick part of him enjoys the punishment. “We're gonna have to have a talk about that.”

“What kind of talk?” Madison challenges. Brandon doesn't like the smirk on his face. He scowls back at him.

“You know exactly what kind. And you won't enjoy it, I promise.”

Cain and Pence are smothering laughter as they return to their own lockers and all Brandon can think about is if only they knew. He wonders how badly Pence would blush. Cain would probably take it in stride like he does everything else. Affeldt would be positively traumatized and Brandon rather likes the mental image that he comes up with. When Madison grins, Brandon scowls and leans in to whisper in his ear.

“No pushing it at the park or we will have that conversation when we get back home. Understand?” Brandon asks, waiting for a nod of understanding. “Good boy.”

There is no part of him that will ever not enjoy the change that comes over Madison when they put their foot down about something. Some of that anger and tension that's always radiating through his body melts away. He's no longer radiating a need to fight from every pore. He takes on a beautifully meek expression and posts himself close to one of them, as if he's afraid to be without them. He's said more than once that he doesn't know what to do when they aren't around, doesn't know what to say or do or how to behave himself. Brandon didn't know that he needed them so badly.

The game and the flight back to San Francisco pass uneventfully. Madison hints that he wants a whipping to Buster and Buster holds out, giving him nothing until he actually asks for it. It's a lesson in both shame and clear communication. They never deny Madison anything he really wants and if it's not actually a punishment, Brandon always wants to know that Madison truly wants the pain. More importantly, they never want him to be ashamed of the things that he wants.

Even with that reassurance, that precaution, Brandon sometimes wonders if all of this was what Madison really wanted. He was spooked as hell at first, jumping like a skittish colt every time they touched him. The first time that they punished him, he wouldn't make eye contact for three days, though he eventually sat at Buster's feet and whispered an apology before burying his face in Buster's lap. They've leveled since then. Everyone knows what's expected of them. But what do they really want?

It's a thought that plagues him for days, to the point that he doesn't even notice Affeldt's continued animosity until he has to restrain Madison from attacking him again. Bochy issues an order for them to go up top while he has a discussion with Affeldt. Buster is busy with promotional filming and it leaves Brandon to lead his boyfriend up into the stands so they can have some privacy. It's the first time he's handled Madison's misbehavior alone. He's surprised how nervous he isn't.

Madison isn't a big talker and he especially hates talking about his feelings. Even so, it's surprisingly easy to get him to talk about why he's losing his temper and reacting the way that he does. He doesn't exactly want to be punished but he knows they punish him because they love him. Sometimes, he says, he just wants the reminder because none of them are all that good at saying it. A minute of silence and then his cheekbones are red as he admits that he likes the pain, wants more of it.

They have very strict rules about behavior at the park but Brandon thinks an admission of that magnitude deserves a reward and a small breach of the rules. He leans in, tipping Madison's chin up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His boyfriend blushes and smiles into it, resting a hand on his knee and squeezing. It's a silent 'I love you' but silence isn't enough for Madison. If he wants to hear it (and feel it) more, then Brandon is going to give him that. He whispers 'I love you' into the kiss. Madison lights up.

The moment is interrupted by an 'ewwwwww' and smothered giggles. They both look slowly back to the field. Romo is standing there with his phone, giggling and framed by Cain and Lopez, who wear identical grins. Brandon groans and slumps forward, burying his face in Madison's shoulder and mumbling that he hates them all. Madison's chin rests on his head and his boyfriend's hand runs up and down his back, Madison lazily telling them to stop picking on those too awkward to defend themselves. As an afterthought, Brandon mutters for Romo to send them a copy of the picture. They don't have many like that and it'd be nice to have. None of them are all that big on cameras, Buster and Madison least of all.

Buster doesn't bring it up until batting practice, leaning on his bat, his attention seemingly on Pagan in the cage instead of Brandon standing next to him. He speaks out of the corner of his mouth, asking if Brandon forgot the rules before twitching and he's admitting that it was pretty cute. He outright grins when Brandon tells him what Madison had said about the pain and punishment. They've come a long way in the time that they've been together.

“What did Bochy say to you?” Brandon asks, unable to hide his resentment as he looks at the cluster of coaches and managers in the dugout. “I know he talked to you.”

Buster answers bitterly. “Told us we have to learn to keep Madison reined in, he couldn't keep jumping on Affeldt. I asked him what he planned to do about Affeldt being a big and creating a hostile work environment. He told me not to worry about. Not worry about being treated like I'm less than human. Fucking bullshit. Gonna take that GLAAD award and jam it up their asses.”

“Maybe he's got something in mind.” Brandon tries, not really believing it himself. It's okay and encouraged to profess support and inclusion of the LGBT community. It's less than okay to be a member of it. “We'll be okay either way, alright? I don't care what happens, I'm not going anywhere. I love both of you.”

His only answer is a bland smile before Buster is squeezing his shoulder and stepping into the cage. Brandon feels sick. What's happening to them?

**********

Madison's acquaintance with karma is summed up in for words: My Name is Earl. He's seen every episode so many times that he's memorized about every line. He's never thought about his own karma until now but he's wondering if the endless harassment at Affeldt's hands is a judgment on him for how he used to be. He didn't go out of his way to harass gay guys when he was growing up or in the minors, but he never stopped it. He cracked the same jokes without realizing how badly he could be hurting someone.

He's done his best to hold it in and ignore Affeldt since he punched him and Bochy sent him up top to cool off. Nothing was ever said to Madison but even if Bochy did have his alleged talk with Affeldt, it didn't do him any good. Affeldt is just doing it without witnesses, muttering insults when he passes Madison or talking at volume and length about crimes against nature. But Madison hasn't let it show that he's buckling under the pressure. He keeps his chin held high and keeps a smile on his face. That’s not going to last forever. He feels like he's about to shatter.

Really, this is the part where he should go to his doms and tell them what's going on, how he's feeling, ask them for something to help grounds him and carry him through. They both have their own problems, though, and he's an adult. He should be able to take care of himself. Again that voice in the back of his mind tells him to talk to his doms but a louder one reminds him that this is everything he's ever done coming back to haunt him. He deserves every bit of this.

The idea of penance carries him for another month. He keeps his head down and takes Affeldt's insults without protest. His boyfriends are furious but there's nothing any of them can do. It's his word against theirs and no one ever wins that game. Even if they did file a complaint, it would end up being worse for them than it would for Affeldt. They'd be bumped to the minors or traded to the highest bitter at best, considered more trouble than they're worth. They've all acknowledged that they might end up in separate teams eventually but they're in no hurry to rush the day. Only Buster is guaranteed to stay. Buster who never says I love you and could have anyone he wants.

He tries to envision a life without Brandon and Buster. It's harder than he thought. He's gotten so used to living, loving, breathing as three that to go it alone seems almost impossible. No more lazy mornings in bed, no more cooking together, no more movie nights. No one to lean back on, to look to for support and correct and punishment when he needs it. No one to spend the rest of his life with. They might not have made those plans yet but Madison can't picture anyone else that he would want to spend his life with. He tries to picture someone else, anyone else, and he can't. He won't.

Even so, life, as it's been... it's not something he can handle. He can't take the harassment, can't handle the shame being forced on himself simply because of who he loves. When Affeldt asks what his parents would say if they know, he knows he's done. He's not weak and he's not a coward but he can't take any more of this. He offers Affeldt a tired smile and a simple 'let's find out' before leaving for home without waiting for his boyfriends. They'll be busy for another hour or two, they had a good game.

He's no computer genius but he knows how to work the camera on his phone and that's all he really needs.

The living room is clean like it always is because Buster can't stand a messy house. Madison is freshly showered after the game and his clothes are clean, not that that really matters. He grabs a mountain dew and sets his phone up, shoots a look at the clock and wonders how much time he has before his boyfriends come home. Certainly not enough that he can keep sitting here like a coward and put this off. Now or never, nut up or shut up, he pushes record. His whole face fills the screen and he locks up, hands shaking before the sting of Affeldt's half threat whips him back to himself. He takes a slow breath and lets it out.

“Hi. My name is Madison Bumgarner and I'm a starting pitcher for the San Francisco Giants. This is something that I didn't never really figure I'd do, especially not about three years ago. But things change and you learn a little more about yourself. And sometimes, an asshole forces your hand. So I'm going to tell you myself. I'm gay. No, can't say I always knew but I know now and that's the important thing. For the past two months, my life has been made a living hell by someone who questions everything about me as if he has a right to judge. I've been insulted with words ought no one should have to hear.

“Today he asked me what my parents would do if they knew. I didn't have an answer for that and I still don't. What I do know is that I'm not ashamed of who I am or who I'm with. If he has a problem with that, he can go to hell. People always say that it gets better. Sometimes, you gotta make it better for yourself, because there's no one who can do it for you or will step up to help you. Be your own hero. I'm gonna be mine.”

Long after he's pressed the stop button, he sits with his head in his hands, second guessing himself and wondering if he's letting Affeldt win simply by responding. He's going to lose his endorsements. He'll lose friends and he'll be disowned by at least some of his family. He could be flushing his career away. But he'd be happy. He wouldn't have that secret lingering over his head. Nothing anyone could use against him. His hands are shaking when he attaches the video to an email and hits send.

In the kind of timing only someone as incredibly awkward as Brandon can have, his boyfriend falls almost flat on his face lunging through their front door. Madison drops his phone partly because he's startled and partly because he feels as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't have been. He should have talked to them first. This involves them too. He should tell them now, he owes them that much, but he doesn't. He smiles and bounds to his feet, kissing both of them before declaring that he wants Chinese for dinner. For now, he'll let everyone be happy. The shit will hit the fan soon enough.

**********

They say that when people have made a decision, they get happier. They relax, withdraw from all their problems because they won't have to deal with those problems anymore. It will all be gone. Buster doesn't know why that's the first thing that comes to mind when Madison's mood suddenly improves. Not that he's been depressed or any quieter than usual. He hasn't been happy though, withdrawn in the face of Affeldt's seemingly endless harassment. In the past few days, there's been a little smirk on his face, like he knows something that no one else does.

Maybe it's the episode of SVU he watched in a Seattle hotel a week ago. Maybe it's the fact that you can't turn on the news or log onto a computer without seeing a story about some poor kid killing himself after being bullied over the edge. The thought is there and it won't go away and he's terrified, he's never been more afraid in his life. He tells Brandon after two days of stewing over it on his own and they spend a day brooding over it together before deciding to act.

They slip out of bed early the next morning, leaving Madison to curl into a ball and wrap his arms around Buster's pillow with a soft whine. Brandon makes bacon and fries pancake in the grease. Buster slices a banana and a handful of strawberries over Madison's stack before drowning it in the cheap imitation syrup that he loves so much. It'd be kind of romantic if the reason for it wasn't so goddamned scary.

The scent of coffee lures Madison out of his cave and he pads in with his eyes half closed and his hair sticking up in every direction. He smiles sleepily at the sight of his favorite breakfast and drops into his chair with a drowsy 'love y'all' before immediately digging in. They wait until he's halfway through his plate and mostly awake before they start, Buster nodding at Brandon before Brandon clears his throat.

“Babe, is there something you need to talk to us about?”

“Don't think so.” Madison yawns, draining his coffee, reaching for another cup and pouting when Brandon hands him orange juice instead.

“Look, I'm not gonna dance around it. You're scaring us Maddy. Really bad.” Buster interrupts, resisting the urge to wring his hands. “For months, you were just... just drawn in on yourself and now you're always smiling and-”

“And you're afraid I'm pink clouding.” Madison shrugs, eying him. “I watched that episode of SVU too, Brandon is the one who slept through it. I'm not going to kill myself. I'm actually... well, maybe happy ain't it, but I'm relaxed. Do you know what today is?”

“No.” Buster blinks, glancing at Brandon. “No birthday or anniversary. Is someone coming to visit that we forgot about?”

Madison smiles patiently, as if Buster and Brandon are being stupid but he's willing to humor them. “What's today at the park?”

Brandon speaks up immediately. “Pride Day.”

“Yahtzee.” Madison answers, not quite smiling anymore. He looks guilty. “I am...”

“What. Did. You. Do?” Buster hisses.

Madison recoils and stares at his plate, pale and his hands shaking. He looks so afraid and Buster never wants to be the reason Madison is afraid. “Don't worry. You're name don't never come up and neither does Brandon's. It was only me and I had every right to do it how I wanted. It was my choice and my right.”

“What was?” Brandon asks, more gently than Buster would have. Madison bites his lip. Brandon sits down, draws their chairs close and touches Madison's hand, squeezing gently. “It's okay, Maddy. Just tell us.”

Normally, Madison lashes out when anyone calls him Maddy. He sits up straight, smiles as if just Brandon's unending sympathy makes everything better. It usually does, for Buster anyway. “I made an It Gets Better video and emailed it to the Trevor Project. They're going to post it after my first pitch tonight.”

“What did you says?” Buster asks curiously.

“That I was gay.” Madison shrugs, picking at the remains of his breakfast. “And that someone, no names mentioned, was making my life a living hell. No one was going to do anything to help me so I helped myself.”

“Madison-”

“Well they haven't!” He snarls, tears welling up in his eyes, tears of rage. “They have a fucking pride night and made all these videos and won all these awards but it's bullshit! They threw us under the bus and watched it roll over us. Affeldt has tortured us and NOBODY. DID. ANYTHING. They just stood by and let it happen! Fuck them! Just... fuck them.”

His voice weakens and he slumps into Brandon's chest, burying his face in Brandon's neck. For the longest time, no one says anything. Madison chokes down angry sobs and settles down to ragged breathing, going entirely silent when Buster runs a hand down his back and kisses the top of his head. He nods at Brandon, crouches down and strokes Madison's cheek until he looks down at him.

“We're not upset. You're not getting punished baby.” He says gently. “You're right on every point. No one helped us or you. And this was absolutely your decision. I'm proud of you. Don't know if I'm that brave. Just hope you can wait until I am.”

“It wasn't for or about you. It was for me. Handle your own BS.”

It's weak but it sounds more like the Maddy that he knows. A glance at the clock tells him they have six hours before they have to be at the park and it's going to be a long night once they're there. He manages to coax both of his boyfriends back to bed for another few hours of sleep because heaven knows that they're going to need it. He doesn't settle until Madison is safely between them, fast asleep, where he should be.

**********

Madison is relaxed, calm, maybe even serene. When before he had taken Affeldt's insults quietly, head down, tonight he looks him straight in the eyes, a slow one that makes even Brandon nervous and he actually knows why Madison is smiling. He can't imagine what kind of an effect it's having on Affeldt. It's a nice change of pace to see the guy shut the fuck up and just go away for once. Brandon finds himself stealing a quick kiss when no one is looking. Madison is kinda sexy when he has no fucks to give.

Buster, on the other hand, is acting like a bear with a sore paw. The few words he's had to say to anyone sure haven't been civil and they've been giving him a wide berth. Romo is the only person who makes a second attempt at approaching him and his reward to be told to go the fuck back to where he came from. The clubhouse falls silent and fills with a nervous energy that has Brandon's stomach turning knots.

“This whole damn night is bull.” He hisses. “It's a bullshit dog and pony show that means precisely dick beyond what it does for our branding and image. Didn't fucking step up the first time someone needed you and you've turned a blind eye to a bigoted piece of shit every day since. Pat yourselves on the back, all of you, but don't try to make it like it really means anything. Don't fucking talk to me.”

The only sound that follows is his cleats on the ground and the clubhouse door swinging shut behind him. Brandon isn't surprised whatsoever when everyone looks to himself and Madison as if somehow they're responsible for it. What does surprise him is an amused laugh from Madison followed by the statement that Buster isn't really wrong, it is just a dog and pony show or maybe he's just cranky because Brandon made the coffee too weak at breakfast. He whistles cheerfully as he trots after Buster. All eyes turn to Brandon. He shrugs.

“Honestly, I'm just surprised it took him this long to snap.”

What ensues are sheepish and half hearted apologies that Brandon mostly ignores. Talk is cheap and it's their guilt to deal with. They could have spoken up when it meant something but they didn't. They just stood back and watched. Not that Brandon ever really expected anything out of them. Well, maybe out of Pence and Cain after they actually said they'd be there, but none of the others. Who knows though? Pence and Cain might really not have realized that Affeldt was still harassing them. After all, the guy was quiet about it. No witnesses. He said, he said.

The thought soften his resolve and he finds himself acknowledging the further apologies with more grace than he would have guessed himself capable of. It's probably self righteous of him to feel so but just because they were assholes doesn't mean that he has to be. Coming around late is a lot better than never coming around at all. He reminds himself to tell his boyfriends that later. They're not by nature unreasonable or unforgiving.

In the scheme of things, this night really isn't any different for the team than any other night would be. They're not active in the festivities, that's for the powers that be. They smile and take pictures and sign autographs but they're here to play baseball. They warm up, everyone sticking closer than usual to either Madison or Brandon. (They're probably still wary of Buster, he still looks angry.) It's a nice, if small, apology.

His phone is locked up in his locker like it always is during a game, giving him no chance to see if the video really did come out with Madison's first pitch. Most likely. No organization is going to pass up an opportunity like the one Madison has given them. In a way, he's almost an ideal. So 'normal' that it's painful, except for maybe all the guns. He's the kind of role model that the PR machines are going to drool over. Not that the Giants PR can afford to criticize him. It'd lose them all their shiny award.

He knows the moment that it starts to really get around. There's a change in the atmosphere, the energy of the crowd. The red are all looking at Madison just a little bit differently. IF Madison notices the change, he doesn't say so. He gravitates back and forth between Brandon and Pence, who looks guilty and exceedingly eager to prove that he meant what he said and that he really didn't know that Affeldt had continued to harass them. Buster looks grumpier than ever but Cain sticks with him, entirely ignoring the glares he receives for his attempts at peacemaking. Still, if Buster weren't already forgiving him, he wouldn't be allowed in the same airspace.

Madison is pulled after six innings and a decent all around showing. He bumps Brandon with his shoulder when he sits down, accepts a towel and a cup of water. Happy, content, relaxed. He's a lot of things that he hasn't been in months, as if the video lifted the weight of the world off his shoulder. IT can't fix everything and there will be plenty of fresh trouble to follow, but the biggest thing that could have been used to subdue and silence him, he put out there on his own. Brandon wonders how powerful that could make a person feel.

There's plenty of baiting during the post-game interviews but Madison refuses to rise to it, answering questions as if by rote, making Brandon wonder how many hours he's spent thinking of everything they could ask him and how to respond. The only time his tightly held control slips is when he's asked about the implication in his video that he'd been bullied. He bristles then, venom in his voice when he mutters that he wasn't bullied, he was consistently and constantly harassed by a bigot and he wasn't going to let that 'self righteous jackwagon' dictate how he felt about himself or who he loved.

A subtle nod from Buster reins his temper back in but there's a wild, untamed look in Madison's eyes that tells Brandon he's going to be asking for some sort of pain and hurt to ground his stormy emotions later. The rest of the team says little when asked for their opinions, declaring that it's none of their business who Madison is with, it has nothing to do with him as their teammate. Affeldt doesn't comment period. Cain doesn't understand why it should matter. Pence is downright effusive in stating that they're a team and Madison is his friend and they all stick together.

Brandon muttering 'Effie Trinket' under his breath earns him a sharp noogie from Pence, a squawk from Kontos and a black stare from Buster and Madison. Can't win 'em all.

When everyone starts clearing out after the game, there's more than one invitation, most of them pretty sincere, to go out and catch a movie or get something to eat. Brandon gently brushes them off in favor of a 'maybe next time'. He wants to be here, alone, with his boyfriends. He doesn't know who needs a scene more, Madison or Buster, but they both look like they'll explode without it. They need to be someone else for a while, retreat to the comfortable roles that, for a little while, help them forget that the world can be so cruel.

He knows that Buster and Madison think he believes all of his own bad hype. When it comes to how he plays, that's sometimes a fact, because he can often see the truth in the criticism. When it comes to his relationship with them and his ability to take care of them, though, he's learned that there's no room for reason or doubt. Of all the things in the world he can do, this is the one he knows that he will always get right.

**********

The minute they're home, Madison is being kissed and told to go to their room and get ready. His bravado and adrenaline are wearing off and reality is sinking in and he feels adrift. He needs them to take control, to take care of him and let him let go. He hadn't realized until now how much all of this means to him, how much he loves them, how these two men that have a gentle hold on his freedoms are the only things that make this world bearable when everything seems too much.

They linger out in the living room, voices too low for Madison to understand. It's another reason he loves them. While it's gotten easier for him to give himself over to them, he has a hard time letting them see him as the walls fall down. He always has to get ready alone. Lose his shirt, shoes and socks, switch to the warn and faded jeans. Remind himself that it's not weak to need this, especially when they need him just as much. Kneel on the dense, soft bathmat at the end of the bed and assume the position that he had so painstakingly learned. Wait, patiently, like the good boy he can be for them and only them.

He doesn't know exactly when they come to him, already floating off in that comfortable space in the back of his mind. Fingertips gently ruffle through his hair and then tip his chin up, full lips capturing his own in a brutal kiss that screams that he is their possession, he belongs to them and them alone. It's almost enough to make Madison fall apart right then. Instead he rests his forehead against Brandon's, whimpers when Buster kisses his ear and bids him to tell them exactly what he wants. This is his night. They're proud of him.

Madison opens his eyes again, steals a glimpse of those blue ones and swallows roughly. “Remind me.”

Remind me I'm yours, remind me you want me, remind me of my place. Remind me of the times we've talked about forever. He wants to say all these things and he's blessed beyond words because he doesn't have to. He can read it in their eyes, they know. They always know what he needs. How had he ever gotten through life without them?

They surprise him. They always do. He lowers his head, eyes to the floor as Brandon's hands massage his arms, starting at his fingertips and slowly moving up to his shoulders. It always has the intended effect, making him lose and heavy and pliable. He's ready to melt into the floor when something cool and heavy drops around his neck with a clicking sound, Buster's strong but nimble fingers fastening it before warm lips press against the nape of his neck. Madison's eyes fly open and he looks up, scarcely able to believe.

“Platinum. Don't lose it.” Brandon smiles. “Not that you'll have to worry if you want it to mean the same thing we do.”

“Not just for play.” Buster clarifies. “Ours, always ours and always ours to take care of. The collar is our reminder and it's a permanent one, if you want it to be.”

Brandon's hand takes his own and pulls him up to his feet. He's turn to the left, facing the mirror that hangs over their dresser. The chain is heavy, thick, glints in the dim light. It doesn't look conspicuous or ostentatious, the things that he would have expected a collar to be. It's natural, organic, a part of him, just like the two men that stand behind him. He touches the metal with ginger fingertips before nodding at them. He wants this with them, has never wanted anything else.

He'd anticipated the strap, something that would have left marks, a stinging reminder of their ownership. It's gentler, easier than they've been with him in a long time. Just like they can read him, he can read them. This isn't just about sex, isn't just about ownership. At the heart of it, at the end of the day, the love is the most important thing. They might not always be that great at saying it but they know how to show it and that goes a long way.

Long after it's over and they've cleaned up as much as they have to, he burrows between them, smiling into his pillow as Brandon's hand rubs slow circles on his hip. Buster's face is buried in the crook of his neck and somehow Madison isn't at all surprised when he starts mouthing at the chain. Buster's oral fixation has no limits and if there isn't something there for him to chew on, he'll chew on Madison or Brandon. A maddening side effect is that he's sometimes content to make out for hours, until Madison is begging to be fucked.

To be fair, he usually ends up begging for that anyway.

Madison's video isn't discussed between the three of them that night and not all that much the next morning. Mostly he's on the phone with his family, all of whom reacted about like he expected that they would. He hangs up on his mother with an aching feeling that the next off season will be spent anywhere but North Carolina. His agent is easier to deal with, Madison telling him to email him all interview requests and questions and he'll get back to him later. He throws his cellphone onto Buster's desk, wanders down the hall in search of his boyfriends.

He finds them in the living room, slouched together on the couch. Brandon's nose is buried in a book and Buster is watching the news with disinterest. Madison climbs into Buster's lap without asking permission, shifting around until he's comfortable. Buster oofs at the added weight but wraps an arm around Madison's waist without complaining, absently kissing his neck and nipping the collar. Madison can't hide his shudder of enjoyment and Buster laughs brightly.

“Like that, huh? I'll remember that.”

“M'sure that's not all you'll remember.” Madison flushes, reaching out and squeezing Brandon's knee. “Can we maybe talk about... I don't know, how this whole thing works. I mean, I know y'all runs everything generally but you said you were going to stay out of things involving my career.”

Buster squeezes his waist. “Yes we are. Worried about it after yesterday?”

“Not like you think.

“How then, Maddy? Don't make me guess.”

“I was just hoping that maybe you would.” Madison says, looking him in the eye to eliminate all doubt. “It's easier, you taking care of it. M'better at other stuff, especially when it's what you tell me to do. Just handle the business stuff for me? Please/ You handle everything else so good.”

“If that's what you want, that's what we'll do.” Buster nods, glancing at Brandon for confirmation. “There a reason you brought it up?”

“My agent said people are asking questions, asking for interviews. I thought you could figure out which ones to do and answer and which to ignore. And then I reckoned it'd be best if you handled all the rest of it too.”

“These are really big steps we're taking right?” Buster asks. “This isn't something we're doing to settle things, to calm you down. We mean this. This collar, this is us marrying you. Do you realize that?”

“Just cause I talk slow don't make me stupid.” Madison says crossly. “Just wish I had something to give y'all.”

“I'll take you out to help you pick something out for us our next day off, m'kay?” Brandon yawns, leaning over for a kiss. “Both of you stop being so serious. This is supposed to be a happy day, quit screwing it up.”

Buster snorts. “Sure thing babe.”


End file.
